His
by Krizzyo
Summary: Michael Myers has a prisoner. You don’t undedstand why you want him so much but you do. He doesnt know why he needs you but he does. There is no love involved or sweetness or fluff. Just raw smut. It makes no sense. Dont read if hardcore offends you!


By: Krizzyo

YOU WANTED HIM

YOU NEEDED HIM

YOU BEGGED FOR HIM

Now he has you.

He didn't kill you.

Sometimes you wish he had.

He is not tender.

He is not in love with you.

He is not the only person in the world who loves you...who understands you...who needs you.

You no longer have contact with those people. They are part of your former life. You don't know if you will ever see them again. You don't even know if they are alive.

And yet, he makes you feel things no one else can.

He keeps you chained by your left ankle to a bed. The room is clean and the chain allows you to reach the small bathroom . The room Is usually stocked with the necessities you need. Toilet paper, soap, a towel. You can see in the mirror your hair is a mess because all you have to wash it with is the bar of soap.

You imagine your room must be subterranean. There is no window, and if the bulb blows out in either the main room or bathroom, you are left in complete darkness.

There is a small refrigerator as well. And a small hot plate on a sturdy and heavy wooden table. There's almost always some cans of soup. Some bread. Occasionally there's fresh milk. And meat. The meat is usually bloody. Whoever butchered it was sloppy in their work. You are afraid of who that person might have been. You are terrified of what kind of meat it is.

He expects you to eat it.

He will enter the room-sometimes so quiet, that if you are asleep or in the toilet , you don't hear him..other times, he bursts through the door like a tornado. His fury almost tangible.

He crosses the room as if you don't exist. He'll open the refrigerator and look. And the meat had better be gone. Or else he will feed it to you raw. So you'd better prepare it yourself, if you prefer your meat cooked. Only God knows where he got it from or what it is. It doesn't taste like anything you have ever had. You force yourself not to think about it.

Sometimes, he will sit in the old arm chair that is in a darkened corner of the room. That is the only other piece of furniture there is. He will sit there and study you like it's the first time he is looking at you. You can hear him breathing behind the white mask. If he's sitting perfectly still and appears relaxed, it might be a quiet night for you. But you can never tell because his face and his emotions are undetectable because of that mask. Even if he takes it off— and he rarely does-only twice in your presence in all the time you've been here, his face is expressionless. Except when he is fucking you. Then he simply stares at you with dark intensity while he pounds into you.

If he's sitting with his arms on the rests, fists clenching and unclenching, then you are in for a rough time. You get wet thinking about what is about to happen. You hate yourself for it. You wonder what is wrong with you? Why do you want him so badly?

He may or may not clean up his hands before he takes you. His mechanic's uniform is filthy and smells of motor oil, copper and dirt. The motor oil and dirt is the residue that was on it when he killed the poor bastard wearing it. The copper scent is sickening to think about. You have learned to breathe through your mouth .

He rarely bothers to remove the coveralls when he takes you. Usually he just unzips the second zipper at his crotch and pulls out his rock hard cock. He is a big guy and he is proportionately hung for his size.

He may simply fall onto you, his weight knocking the air from your lung's while he fumbles with himself, trying to penetrate you without benefit of natural or artificial lubrication. If he has too difficult a time, he becomes impatient. He will shove his fingers in you and find the exact spot that makes your vagina weep with need. He doesn't do this for your pleasure. It is simply to ease his way.

He watches you writhe and contort as you moan with desire. For a while, it fascinates him. Especially when you scream his name and buck your hips and shudder. He tilts his head to one side, studying your every move.

He decides you are ready and he takes you. The walls of your sex tighten around his and your overstimulated clit sets you on edge. He fills you completely and his movements are pure pleasure inside you. You want to touch him so badly but you don't dare. You did once and he nearly choked the life from you. Luckily, he remembered why he kept you alive and brought you here to his house and he went back to making you his.

His hands left bruises on your neck that remained there for over a week.

So you must lie there while he takes you for his enjoyment-at the same time providing you with yours and you can't touch him. It makes you want him even more.

Sometimes, he'll walk in and come straight to the bed. You have learned what he wants when he stands at the edge looking down at you. He just stands there, hands at his side. You scramble across the bed, end up on your knees with your legs folded under you, your ass resting on your heels. You free his already semi-erect dick and take it all in your mouth and you feel the head touch the back of your throat. He fucks your face while you pump his manhood with one hand and massage his balls with the other. This is the only time you are permitted to put your hands on any part of him.

Sometimes he will shoot his load down your throat other times it will cover your lips and face. He never makes noise when he cums. The only indication is an increase in the heaviness of his breathing and the release of the hot, thick fluid into— or on you.

You love it.

Sometimes, he will grab you by your ankles and flip you over on your stomach. He large, calloused , rough hands hold your hips, and he pulls you up on all fours and back towards him, planting his penis deep into you. You moan and he doesn't utter a sound but he pulls out almost all the way before slamming it into you over and over. You play with yourself while he uses you because you can't help yourself. You reach your peak and are lost— sobbing while he floods you with hot seed. He pulls out and walks away, leaving you dripping your own fluids and his.

He may sit back down in his chair and watch you again. Stare at you while you lay panting like a bitch in heat. After a while, you see a tell-tale bulge between his legs. His breathing is getting heavier . You wish you knew what he was thinking. Do you turn him on? You think that you must, because he keeps you here and has you serve his needs. With a low growl...the only sound you have ever heard from him-he crosses the room back to you and glares down at you. He is angry. Is he angry because he wants you? You have no idea and it doesn't matter because he is on top of you again, thrusting into you. Rutting with you like an animal. And that's why you want him. That's why you need him. That's why you love him. He makes all the decisions for you. Your life is his and he allows you to live or die on his whim.

Now and then, he will use his vicious looking butcher's knife and trace the razor sharp edge lightly over your body. The cold steel makes you shudder . He presses the tip gently into the place between your breasts. He could plunge the blade into your chest and take your life right now but he doesn't. He moves the tip down to your belly and pauses there as well. Again you realize he could end you...again he doesn't. His hand moves lower still and the knife is between your legs. She bristle and shiver at the thought of him inserting the sharp end there. But thankfully he flips it around and is rubbing you with the end of the handle. You moan in fear and pleasure and he's watching your reaction with rapt fascination. You can't help yourself. And you plead with him to take you and end your suffering. He responds by getting up and going back to his chair. Your hands move to take care of your needs and you rub and play with your clit, using your fingers to bring you to the peak. He is slowly rubbing the bulge in his overalls while watching you. You cry out your orgasm and he leans forward slightly. You are back to panting and writhing because your touch isn't as good as his. And nothing can compare to what it feels like when he claims you. He ends your torment by once more covering your body with his. He slides into you easily because you are so wet. This goes on for hours . He's still fucking you when you fall asleep. You lost count of how many times he made you cum and you are too exhausted to continue. Your last thought before you drift off is can he screw you to death.

He doesn't care if you're awake or asleep. Right now, there is just his burning need. It drives him just as powerfully as his bloodlust. No matter how many times he spills his seed on you or in you, it's never enough. In a little while, he's hard again and he needs release. And then there are times he can go for days or weeks without so much as laying eyes on you.

It's a pain in his ass because you need to be fed and checked on or you'll die or someone might find you and take you away from him. That second thought enrages him.

He has no idea why you caught his attention. He'd intended to kill you, just like the others but there was something about you . As soon as he touched you, he felt the need. He noticed your full breasts and sweet body and he just couldn't bring himself to skewer you, not with his knife, anyway.

He brought you to his house and chained you to the bed. He fed you and kept you. You're his now, as far as he is concerned and he enjoys how you feel, how you look and the sounds you make. He goes out when the other need grips him and he kills. But when that need passes, he finds himself thinking about the last time he took you. He gets hard. Then, he has to hurry home and take you before the need drives him madder than he already is.

He cannot fathom the reason behind any of this. He thinks you look delicious when you beg him. Your cries drive him wild. The more he takes the more he wants. He will never, ever let you go. He owns you. He has finally finished with you for the night and he watches you sleep from his chair.

Halloween is over . He has an entire year to have his fill of you. The thought makes him hard. all over again. He gets up and approaches the bed. You crack your eye and watch him.

His huge frame fills your vision as he gets closer.

Michael Myers has you in his grasp. You are his. And, judging from the tent in his pants, murder is the last thing on his mind.


End file.
